


Laugh, Clown, Laugh

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 02:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is something very odd about this THRUSH hideout and Napoleon can't help wondering why he feels like he's being followed.  The only thing around are all those creepy clowns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laugh, Clown, Laugh

 

 

 

He was doing what he seemed to do best these days, sneaking quietly into a building.  The house was a three-story maze of switchback staircases, dead end halls and doors to nowhere.  Several agents had already gone in to locate the missing blueprints and had never come out.  However, Napoleon Solo had an ace up his sleeve – he had his stubborn Russian mule of a partner to help him out.

“Illya, where do I go from here?” he murmured into his communicator.

“Do you see a staircase on your right?  There should be a door beside it that has a doorknob on the wrong side of the door,”

Napoleon looked around and frowned.  Whoever this THRUSH guy was, he had a really weird hobby.  Apparently the man collected clowns.   Not normal ha-ha clowns, but those that were rather creepy.  He’d been in a dozen rooms and the clowns always seemed to be around.  One would be propped up in a corner or posed on a piece of furniture.  There was an uncanny likeness to them and Napoleon decided that the THRUSH must be collecting an artist.  Now there was one sitting in the hall, staring at him, nasty little teeth in its gaping mouth.  Anyone who thought these were cute should have his head examined.

“Napoleon?”

“Sorry, I was distracted.”

“Focus, my friend.  You are almost there.  You want the room beside the staircase.  We feel there should be a safe or something, possibly behind a bookcase.”

“Gotcha.  I’m going in.”  This door, like the others, was unlocked.   They had yet to figure out if this THRUSH was just that pompous to think UNCLE wouldn’t come after their property or that stupid to not lock anything.

He pushed through the door and stopped.  There was a desk on the far side of the room and on it were the blueprints.

“Illya, you are not going to believe this.”

“What?”

“The blueprints, I’ve got them.”

“No problems?”

“None.  There’s something odd about this.”  Napoleon looked around and sure enough there was the same little creepy clown sitting in a nearby chair.  “Apparently, this guy really has a fetish for clowns.”

There was a long pause and Napoleon used the time to roll up the blueprints.  When he looked, the clown seemed to have moved from the chair to the edge of the desk.

“Illya?”

“Napoleon, run!”

“What?”

“RUN!”

Napoleon was a sort of rogue agent.  He tried to follow orders, but often he would get distracted by a pretty face or a shapely leg.  However, there was no way to ignore the panic in Illya’s voice.  The Russian knew something Napoleon didn’t.  He grabbed the blueprints and ran.

Suddenly those damn clown dolls were everywhere,tripping him and Napoleon nearly plunged headlong down the stairs.  It was only his luck, his beautiful, wonderful, cup runneth over, luck that saved him.  While the trip in had taken the better part of an hour, the trip out took a fraction of that time.

Within minutes, he burst from the front door and there was a shout.  A hail of gunfire followed in his wake.  Startled, Napoleon threw himself into the bushes and held his breath.

“Napoleon?!”

He stirred when he heard Illya shouting his name and sat up.  The blueprints were a little crushed, but otherwise fine.  “I’m here.”

“Thank whatever god watches out for spies,” Illya said, dropping to a knee before him.

“What is going on?”

“Not really sure.  I think this comes under the ‘better to not ask why’ category.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Mr. Griffith, the owner of this house, was coulrophobic.”

“He was what?”

“He feared clowns.”

“But the house was full of them,” Napoleon protested as he stood.  That was when he saw what was left of his trousers.  From the knees down, they were shredded.   He remembered the clowns and their teeth and he looked uneasily at the pile of shattered dolls on the porch.  “Illya, I think I hear Mr. Waverly calling me.”

“Me, as well.”  Illya waved an arm at the other UNCLE agents and gestured them in.

“Illya, what the hell is that?”  Napoleon pointed to a tree.  Dangling from the tree was a clown, weather worn and stained.  Jabbed into it was a communicator and the light was green.  Illya pointed his Walther at it and blasted the doll into shreds of cloth.

“Let’s get out of here.”

                                                            ****

From the topmost window, a small white head fringed with bright red hair listened to the slightly gnawed communicator and growled softly as it went dead...  It glanced back at the pile of bones, some with flesh still clinging to them.  The plan had worked well for a while… what could they steal next?  It would have to be soon – they were so hungry.


End file.
